


Roots

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [160]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Dark Past, Facing the past, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Magic, Memories, Poor Host, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host gets back to his roots.
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier
Series: The Ego Manor [160]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1166384
Comments: 33
Kudos: 192





	Roots

“Are you sure you want to do this, Host?”

The Host nodded, uncharacteristically silent as he ‘stared’ out the window of Dr. Iplier’s car. He could feel Dr. Iplier’s concerned gaze, but he still didn’t say anything, just continuously rubbed his thumb over the Braille on his promise ring.

It was February 6th.

The Host didn’t…know how to really feel. A lot had changed in the past year. Years, really. He’d always known he’d have to go back, eventually, but he was never ready. He didn’t _want_ to. He _still_ didn’t. He was absolutely _terrified_ , head filled with memories of fear and tears and blood and this Godawful _banging_. In the back of his mind, he could see two golden pinpricks of light. But…he was he most mentally stable he’s ever been. Yes, the manor had been absolute _chaos_ the past year with five new additions, and the wedding, and _so much else_ , but…the Host has never been happier. He was _engaged_. If was ever going to go back…

Now was the time.

Time passed quickly. Too quickly. Before long, the car was slowing to a stop, and Dr. Iplier was helping him out of the car. He held the Host’s hand tight, reassuring, a familiar presence the Host gratefully latched on to. The forest loomed around them, familiar and comforting. The Host didn’t know if he had the courage to step any deeper into it.

Dr. Iplier squeezed his hand, and the Host’s head whipped to face him. He hadn’t noticed he was hyperventilating. “…Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back home. It’s okay.”

The Host shook his head, drawing a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down. “No. No, the Host…” He tried for a smile, kissing the side of Dr. Iplier’s head. “He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

The path was still so familiar to him. He didn’t even need his Sight to navigate through the forest, walking faster and faster till he was practically _sprinting_ , letting go of Dr. Iplier’s hand to race far ahead. He felt like something was _chasing_ him, anxiety and memories and just a cocktail of emotions spinning up inside him like a tornado, spurring him on to _run_. He could feel the blood streaming down his face, his throat hurt from breathing hard, but he didn’t _stop_. Pushing himself on and on and on, faster and faster and –

He skidded to a halt.

He was panting heavily, legs a little shaking from running for so long. Blood soaked into his bandages. He could hear the faint sound of Dr. Iplier calling his name. But he didn’t move. He didn’t dare to, now that it was looming in front of him.

“ _Host! Come back, don’t you dare go in there alone!_ ”

The Host ignored Dr. Iplier’s distant command, cinched his coat tighter, and stepped towards the Author’s cabin.

It was…strange. The cabin was exactly how it’d been left over six years ago. _Exactly_ how it’d been. Even nature hadn’t _dared_ try to reclaim the place, soaked in blood, and still _radiating_ the Author’s magic. It sent ice trickling down the Host’s spine, and he swallowed nervously, hugging himself. The stairs creaked as he walked, wood groaning under his weight, and he opened the door. It was a little difficult, doorframe still splintered and broken from –

The Host shuddered, memories of paranoia and fear and swinging his bat into the doorframe haunting his mind. He stepped deeper into the cabin, and the crunch of glass greeted his ears. His Sight flashed, allowing him a good look at what remained of the cabin. Glass _covered_ the floor in a fine layer. Books and loose papers and pens were scattered across every surface. Dark bloodstains were still _very_ visible beneath the mess. The air still _reeked_ of _fear_.

Drawing a shuddering breath, blood dripping heavily down his face, the Host kept his Sight forced on, heading for the short little hallway that led to the bedroom and the bathroom. He went into the bedroom first, bile rising in his throat at the thought of going into the bathroom. He didn’t want to know what he’d find there.

The bedroom was…dusty. Less glass, but just as much of a _mess_. The bed was an unmade disaster – not that the Author was ever one _to_ make his bed. But, remembering the Author’s mental state when he was last in this room…the Host wasn’t surprised. There was nothing of sentiment in the bedroom. The Author didn’t _have_ items of sentiment, save his bat. There were a few more books, each with the Author’s name written on the spine, a small wardrobe, and a little nightstand. The Host ran a hand lightly over the bed, feeling the fabric of the soft blankets, remembering the winter nights he’d spent here, numb to the cold, scribbling away at his current novel.

He couldn’t stall any longer.

His empty sockets itched as he slowly turned around, and headed back into the hallway.

He laid a hand on the bathroom door, slightly ajar already.

Did he _really_ want to go in there?

Was it worth it?

The Host pushed open the door.

He could almost _hear_ the wet, sickening sound of flesh being _squished_ in his hands as he took a shaky step into the bathroom. He could feel the gore on his fingers, twitching and gripping onto his coat. He swallowed harshly, breathing heavily. He didn’t dare step further. _Blood_ swamped the bathroom, a dark, grisly, dried puddle in the middle of the floor. Staring at the horrific stain…the Host wondered why he wasn’t dead. He took another hesitant step inside. It was like time had stood still in the cabin. He could See two bloody lumps on either end of the puddle…still just _sitting_ there after so many years…if he got closer, he wondered if he could See gold –

“ _Host!_ ”

The Host jumped, vision abruptly snapping to black as his Sight gave out. He stumbled, leaning against the sink, suddenly dizzy, legs like jelly. His bandages were soaked to the point where they threatened to slip down his nose. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, hadn’t he? Fitting…

A warm hand gripped his elbow, and he was made aware of Dr. Iplier panting beside him, supporting him. As he always has. “Jesus _Christ_ , when did you get so fast?!” The Host managed a weak laugh, and a little one escaped Dr. Iplier. The mood shifted as Dr. Iplier cupped his cheek, uncaring of the blood now on his hands. “Hey…you okay?”

The Host didn’t give any sort of definitive answer, just pointed behind him. At one of the small lumps on the floor. Dr. Iplier’s breath audibly hitched. “Is – are those – _how_ –”

The Host shrugged, raising one hand to weakly cling to Dr. Iplier instead of the old sink. “A lot of things were afraid of the Author,” he mumbled. “…Apparently even decay.”

He lifted his head, every part of him shaking. His head had finally gone quiet. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. His lip quivered, and when he spoke, his voice was so uncharacteristically _small_. “…Can they go home now?”

Dr. Iplier took his hand, his engagement ring warm against the Host’s fingers. “Of course. Come on, I have a spare clotting shot in the car.” The Host snorted, shoulders dropping a little as Dr. Iplier guided him out of the cabin. “Hey! Don’t laugh, I never know when you’re gonna have a vision! Or are just a fucking idiot and let yourself bleed! My caution has _grounds_ , Host!”

The Host laughed again, gratefully squeezing Dr. Iplier’s hand. He squeezed back, and the Host managed a little smile. He would forever be grateful for Dr. Iplier. He’d be dead without him, after all.

They were almost out the door when there was a small noise. The Host paused, listening, though apparently Dr. Iplier hadn’t heard it. “Host? What’s wrong?”

“Shhh…” The Host tilted his head when he heard the soft sound again, turning toward the kitchen. He let go of Dr. Iplier’s hand, creeping towards a cupboard. The door was already ajar, he felt, when he went to open it. And he gasped, tilting his head again the other way, like a confused puppy.

There was a fox kit huddled in the back of the cupboard, making pitiful little sounds. Its paws were bleeding, undoubtedly from the glass that littered the floor. The Host’s heart broke, and he reached back to scoop it into his arms. The kit was scared, and in pain, and it bit and snapped at his fingers, but the Host didn’t mind. He was bloody already.

He soothed the little creature as he walked back over to Dr. Iplier, mumbling under his breath to heal its wounds, clean the blood off its fur. The kit stopped fighting him when its pain vanished, instead timidly licking at the wounds it had left on the Host’s fingers. He smiled at Dr. Iplier, gently petting it as they exited the cabin. He set it down on the forest floor, and the kit immediately scampered off into the trees.

“Well…” Dr. Iplier reached for his hand again, pulling him along the forest path, back to the car. “Did you at least find what you were looking for in there? Bad memories aside?”

The Host tilted his head, thinking. His head was still quiet, no banging, no gold, no voice aside his own. He'd even found _life_ in that cabin. He smiled. “The Host thinks so.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Oh my poor son......_  
>  Y'all ready for some sad Darkstache? C'mon, I'm sure you are! ;)
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


End file.
